


Close to You

by bsmog



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Clint Needs a Hug, Fluff, M/M, More Fluff, i still don't know what i'm thinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-24
Updated: 2015-06-24
Packaged: 2018-04-05 21:49:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4196130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bsmog/pseuds/bsmog
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Phil actually sleeps like the dead, Clint wakes up to watch him, and everyone likes snuggles. </p>
<p>Or, the one where Clint has feelings and Phil makes them okay.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Close to You

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know how the hell this happened either. I'm still blaming Sapphire Scribe, and blame still means thank, but really, this is very unlike me. Also, you all are lovely, because this is not exactly the least intimidating corner to chill on. 
> 
> Also, I write most things based on song lyrics. This one is inspired by Far Too Jones' song _Close to You_ , and anything poetic in this story is probably theirs first.

It’s a little known fact that Phil Coulson actually has more settings than “wide awake” and “pretending to be asleep, but actually wide awake.”

In fact, given the chance and the space and the time, Phil snores. He has been known to drool. He definitely talks in his sleep, and he’s a grade-A cover hog. 

There’s not a security clearance high enough in all of S.H.I.E.L.D. to make that knowledge available to a single soul that doesn’t share a bed with the man, and that’s why Clint’s been waking up nearly every morning for the last year, just to watch Phil sleep. 

Not like that, he’s not a creeper. He doesn’t get off on it - that usually comes before, and often also comes after, and he’s a fan of that part too, don’t get him wrong, but he’d much rather have Phil as an active participant. 

No, it’s just at daybreak, when the shadows outside filter in through Phil’s bedroom windows, broken up by warm, soft morning sun. Phil isn’t just sleeping during those minutes, he’s clinging to sleep, face slack and breath soft and skin so warm it’s all Clint can do not to bury himself under Phil’s body. Instead, he turns on his side and just _watches_. Watches and thinks and tries not to think too hard about how the hell he got here and how long it could possibly last before Phil decides, like most people in Clint’s life do, that he’s not worth the trouble, that he’s not the man Phil thinks he is or wants him to be. 

Hey, no, wait, it’s not like he’s trying to play the martyr or the victim here. He and Phil were headed to this for a long time, and when they finally tumbled into bed together it was as easy and natural as breathing. It’s just...Clint’s always thought of himself a little like a hand-me-down, like a broken in baseball glove you pick up at a garage sale for a buck. He’s tattered and a little torn, but you know what you’re getting, so there’s that. He’s comfortable that way. 

But Phil makes him feel...new. Shiny. Important. _Precious_. It’s little things, too, not Big Gestures that make Clint uncomfortable. It’s Phil bringing him coffee exactly the way he likes it in the mug he knows Phil took from his place the first time they spent the night there so Clint had something of his own at Phil’s from the start. It’s the look Phil gives him over the top of whatever comic book he’s got his nose in when Clint sits down with his coffee and a pen and the Sunday crossword and glares and huffs and crosses out word after word but refuses a pencil, because he’s a goddamn Avenger and if he wants to do the crossword in pen, he figures he’s earned that much. 

It’s the way Phil makes him think differently about the job he does, because let’s be honest, he still shoots arrows at people - and things and sometimes aliens, sure - for a living, and that’s always felt a little dirty and shameful until Phil and S.H.I.E.L.D and the Avengers and a team that values him for more than his ability to kill and still have a sandwich after. He used to feel like he had one foot on the side of the line that defined him pre-Phil, the filthy, hidden side that took money for killing and seducing and stealing, and the other foot in the present, where Phil and a whole big secret organization backed his play (fine, mostly Phil and not so much with the secret organization except Phil was S.H.I.E.L.D.) and stood him next to Captain fucking America to save the world. But Phil makes him think maybe he can let the shame drift away one of these days, like Barney and the circus and the shit he used to do isn’t _who he is_. Not anymore.

It’s the way that Phil - always-awake, constant-vigilance, S.H.I.E.L.D.-thinks-he’s-a-robot Phil - likes to fall asleep with his back pressed into Clint’s chest and their fingers linked over his heart. And how he rolls away once he’s sleeping, but always makes his way back across the bed to burrow against Clint again as he starts to make his way out of sleep. 

He loves this moment the most, he thinks, and he smiles as he watches Phil snuffle a little and turn over, arm reaching out for Clint even as he buries his face into the pillow. Clint wants to stay still, he really does. He wants to wait for Phil to inch closer, but there’s something perfect and fragile about this morning, and he can’t stay away. He slides under Phil’s outstretched arm, pulling Phil gently up to rest his head on Clint’s chest and can’t help but run his hand up and down Phil’s back, letting his fingertips feel the slack of Phil’s usually-tensed muscles and the sleep-warmth of his skin. 

“Mmmm.” Phil’s arm tightens around Clint’s body. “Wakin’ me up to snuggle?”

His voice is raspy and slurred, but Clint can feel his smile where his face rests against Clint’s collarbone. 

Half a dozen snarky retorts come into Clint’s head and are dismissed before he even has a chance to consider, because yes, that’s exactly what he did, and the man he wants to be for Phil, the man Phil _deserves_ can admit that. _Should_ admit that, because Phil is the best fucking thing that’s ever happened to Clint and he’s not about to ruin that - or, in the nearer term, a perfectly fucking awesome morning by being a smartass. 

“Your bed’s too fucking big,” is what he settles on, tightening his arms around Phil. It’s not, not really, because neither of them likes to be constricted in his sleep, but he’s got to find an opening line somewhere.

“Better’n yours,” Phil mumbles. 

It’s true, because Clint mostly sleeps on his couch, and he’s adult enough to admit that a mattress on the floor in the bedroom in his apartment, which is a shithole, but it’s his, does not hold a candle to Phil’s absofuckinglutely amazing memory foam cloud pillow whatever the fuck bed. Also, Phil’s bed tends to have Phil in it, which pretty much makes it the best place Clint’s ever slept in his life. 

“Wanted you closer,” Clint whispers.

He doesn’t know why those words are so hard to say. He’s said harder ones in his life. He’s said harder ones to Phil, even; he’d choked so hard on his first _I love you_ that Phil dragged him to Medical before he figured out what Clint was trying to get out, but in the end he still managed to say it.

Phil lifts his head, turns it so his chin is resting on Clint’s chest. His face is still creased with sleep, eyes heavy and unfocused. His smile is soft, though, and it makes something loosen in Clint’s chest. 

“I know,” Phil says, voice as soft as his smile.

Clint squints at him. 

“I know you’re awake most mornings,” Phil whispers, and Clint feels like they’re telling each other secrets in the early morning light. “It hasn’t escaped my attention that your eyes are clear and I’ve still got sleep in mine.”

Clint huffs, but he’s not really surprised. Phil may be clinging to sleep, but he’s still Phil Coulson. And he’s known Clint nearly half of Clint’s life; he knows his patterns and his habits, both asleep and awake. That he loves Clint anyway - and he does, he says so every chance Clint gives him (and doesn’t choke on the words, but hey, Clint’s learning), well, that might be one of the reasons Clint loves _him_. 

“I can stop-” Clint starts.

“Mmmm, no, you like it, and I like that you like it,” Phil says as he leans up to kiss Clint good morning. “And I like that you want me that close to you.”

Clint snorts and his mouth gets ahead of his brain for a hot second. Day that ends in “y” and all that.

“I always want you close to me.” 

His eyes widen as he says it, because shit, if he thought admitting he wanted Phil closer this morning was big, he’s pretty much just put a giant pink elephant in the room with that last sentence. 

But Phil, being Phil and being essentially perfect and the reason Clint actually really does always want him close, just leans up and kisses him again before he lays his head back on Clint’s chest with a yawn and a sigh and says, “‘s good. I’m not going anywhere as long as you’ll let me stay here. Now lemme go back to sleep, you woke me up to snuggle and we’re snuggling, but it’s the weekend and we’re not getting out of bed yet.”

Clint loves to watch Phil sleep, but he thinks just maybe _I’m not going anywhere_ might be real, and maybe he doesn’t have to lie awake every morning, because he’s been tired his whole life and maybe now it’s time for him to accept that someone wants to be close to him for _him_. 

“Yes, sir,” he whispers with a smile, but Phil’s already snoring lightly, and Clint knows he’s going to be drooling soon too, and no one else will ever see that if Clint has anything to say about it, and he’s pretty sure that means Phil’s as close to him as he could ever hope for. 

~*~


End file.
